


For All To See

by staymagical



Series: For All To See [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Artist Keith, M/M, Model Lance, pinup, reference to period-typical homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28967802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staymagical/pseuds/staymagical
Summary: New York, 1922Deep in the heart of New York's seedy underground is a magazine thriving off the illicit gay movement and the two men behind it, risking their love and lives for the craft they adore. But Keith wouldn't have it any other way and he loves Lance even more, in all his lace and sultry beauty.Or Keith is an artist and Lance his ever-present muse
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Series: For All To See [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2124693
Comments: 5
Kudos: 70





	For All To See

**Author's Note:**

> This is my contribution to the Sultry Shots Klance zine. Was the first zine I was ever in and one of my absolute favorites. Was so much fun to write this piece and I hope you all enjoy it as much as I do.
> 
> Also included in this series is the NSFW companion piece to this story ;)

_ New York, 1922  
  
  
_

It’s strange how Keith can be the happiest he’s ever been while breaking the law.

Several laws in fact.

But he couldn’t care less. Lance is his everything, the only person he has ever loved, no matter how immoral the world may view their relationship. There’s no threat or peril that can make him leave the love of his life. 

And their side business, well, that’s just icing on the gorgeous, unlawful cake that is their lives. Lives they keep secluded behind a hidden door in a private room they can call solely their own.

Keith smiles as he sketches the curve of Lance’s hip before glancing back up at his subject.

His heart burns with love.

Lance makes an enticing portrait spread out on the couch, skin supple and smooth as rich caramel in the soft glow of the candlelight. Sheer lace cascades across and down one shoulder over the swell of his hip and thigh like water over stone. The thin cotton underwear leaves little to the imagination, though that’s a secret only between them, one that neither are ready to give up. Lance more for Keith’s benefit than any silly notion of shyness.

And with every scratch of graphite on paper, Keith can only hope to capture a fraction of the ethereal beauty that he portrays. 

“Tilt your head a little to the left,” he says in way of focusing back on task. “And chin up. Perfect.” The coy tug of Lance’s lips sharpens as he follows Keith's instructions, becomes something more attuned to a sensual smirk that has Keith mimicking the look. He catches himself halfway and the smile eases into one of fondness and humor that Lance quickly picks up on. Soon enough they are both grinning and laughing and Keith has to pause in his sketching in order not to reduce it to child-like scratches. 

“Don’t do that.” Keith shakes his head trying to rid himself of the distraction. 

Lance settles back into his lounged position with one last chuckle and accusatory, “You started it.”

“Did I?” Keith asks, raising his eyebrows at Lance. The smirk is making a reappearance at the corner of his mouth and Keith’s eyebrows rise higher in an attempt to quell it. Of course it fails spectacularly and they both grin. “You’re so innocent, are you? Over there with your long legs and piercing eyes looking at me like that.”

He flicks his pencil up and down Lance’s body in emphasis.

“And how do you want me to look?” Lance purrs. He slides his foot up along his calf and Keith is so focused on the movement he barely catches Lance pulling his brow into an exaggerated menacing expression, teeth bared and nose scrunched. “Would readers prefer this? Would it leave them begging for more? Every issue flying off the proverbial shelf?”

Keith shifts in his seat, settling his sketch on his knees as a flare of love and desire lick through his veins and make his heart swell. “If it’s you,” he says quietly, “they’ll buy anything.”

“No,” Lance chides with a shake of his head and a fondness in his smile, “that’s just you sweetheart and your opinion on this matter is a bit biased. You get it all for free.”

He winks, setting Keith’s cheeks aflame. It still astounds Keith that even after all these years together, Lance’s flirting still has him blushing like a little girl with a schoolyard crush.

It just further drives his conviction that there is nothing wrong with what they share. That their love is just as pure and beautiful as any other. 

No matter what the world says.

“Lucky me,” Keith says, voice soft and sincere in every octave. 

“Indeed.”

They settle down again, Keith leaning back in his chair to take better advantage of the candlelight as Lance eases into his pose. 

The peace lasts all of ten minutes before Lance cracks a joke and Keith tries to pretend he doesn’t love it.

But he does. Oh, how he loves every one of them, every second of this time together. 

Every second of falling deeper in love with Lance.

Because this is everything he never knew he wanted. Five years ago he would have never pictured himself here, creating art for an illicit underground gay magazine produced and sold by him and his  _ boyfriend _ . Hell, he would have never even imagined he would be in love let alone with another man. Back then, just entertaining such a thought left him trembling and fearful for all that he could lose. 

He never stopped to consider all that he could gain.

And he wouldn’t trade it for all the money in the world. Because he wants no part of this world without Lance by his side.

Keith traces the delicate arch of Lance’s brow on the paper. “Nearly finished.”

Lance hums in response, his body lax in comfort. He closes his eyes and sighs, a content smile pulling at his lips. He looks happy, complete where he lays and Keith yearns to join him, curl himself around his body and just soak in his warmth into his skin.

There will be time enough for that later. For now, they have to finish this piece and get the latest issue to print and out to market.

Well, to their “seedy underground” market as they say. It’s a shame the general public will never know of their magazine, never see Lance’s beauty and how he captures the heart and imagination of everyone who has the pleasure to lay their eyes on his prints. On Keith’s renderings.

“Okay love,” Keith interrupts the silence that has fallen over the room. Lance opens one eye, his smile spreading. Keith mimics it. “I would say you can relax now but you seem pretty content as you are.”

Lance chuckles. “Mmm but there’s somewhere else I’d rather be.” Then in one fluid motion, he slides out of his pose, the lace flowing behind him as he gets up off the couch with a sultry lift of chin.

Keith raises his eyebrows. He drinks Lance in, the smooth skin, the rosy dusting of his cheeks, his long lean figure as he sashays his way over. Keith shifts in his chair, leaning back and moving his sketch to one hand seconds before Lance folds himself onto his lap.

Keith slips his left arm under Lance’s robe to lay against the warm skin of his lower back and hip. Then he settles his sketch on Lance’s lap to pick up where he left off.

“Better?” Keith asks, smirking. 

Lance gives a contented hum. “Much.”

He’s watching Keith’s hand move, studying the lines and curves as Keith adds a few embellishing details to Lance’s portrait. And in return, Keith watches him, his heart beating with enamored affection. 

He truly is the luckiest man.

“One of these days,” Lance says, voice low and soft, “you’ll be featured in one of our spreads.”

Keith smoothes out the curve of Lance’s exposed shoulder, adding a few more freckles with a gentle  _ tap tap tap _ of the graphite. “I am,” he says. “I’m in every one.”

“You know what I mean,” Lance huffs. He waves a hand at Keith’s arm as if to swat him but the hand doesn’t make contact in fear of creating an imperfection across his rendering. He shifts, sinking further into Keith’s lap and resting his head against his shoulder. 

Keith leans into his warmth without pausing his sketching. “When you learn how to sketch more than a line, perhaps.”

Lance’s brow pinches into a pout. “My lines are exquisite, thank you very much.” 

There’s a look in Lance’s eye, one of consideration and Keith adds a few more finishing touches as he waits for Lance to voice his mind.

“We could get one of those fancy cameras,” Lance finally says. 

Ah, there it is. Keith sighs. They’ve been over this before, in vague contemplations and half-spoken arguments. “And all the developing equipment assigned to such a device? You know we can’t afford that.” Keith shakes his head. “Just sending the film out to be developed would be risky, to say the least.”

He knows it would make their business better, more realistic to their consumers, but it’s too dangerous and Keith won’t gamble with Lance’s life like that.

“Some day,” Lance says, glancing around their shabby hidden room, the brick that makes up the walls thrown into sharp relief by the flickering candlelight, “we’ll have a whole set up, with cameras and trays and proper lighting so you don’t have to squint to see what you are doing.” His face lights up, arms tightening around Keith’s neck. “Oh, maybe Pidge can get us electricity.”

“Lance, love,” Keith sighs, “I want this too, you know. But we just can’t afford it right now. Perhaps later, if you get that promotion.”

“Or you get picked up by that newspaper.” Lance meets his gaze, eyebrows waggling.

Keith chuckles, the edges raw and sharp. He won’t be hired, he knows he won’t. He applied on a whim but the position has been filled for years and it’s not looking like it’ll be opening up anytime soon. They don’t need another artist when they have one already. 

Perhaps one day he’ll get there, but for now, only a few brief flyers and the dark underground of New York will ever see his art.

Lance thinks it’s a shame. Keith silently agrees.

“A boy can dream, can’t he,” Lance sighs, wistfully. His hand moves then, sliding up the length of Keith’s neck to his cheek and gently coaxing his head to turn and meet his gaze. Keith drowns in blue before he’s swallowed up in a tender, loving kiss. “Someone will see you,” Lance whispers against his lips. “Just you wait. Whether it be a newspaper or a magazine or Norman Rockwell himself.”

Keith can’t help the genuine chuckle that escapes. He’s pulled into another kiss, this one slow and languid before it melts into something deep, imbued with Lance’s drive and passion. His strength. And Keith soaks it up like a dying man. 

“They will  _ see you _ ,” Lance repeats, pulling away just far enough to rest his forehead against Keith’s. Keith closes his eyes and breathes in Lance. “Just as I do, my heart, my love.”

  
  


Many decades later as the century wanes through the final few years and the illicit times of the twenties have become nothing more than fantastical stories of the past, the new proud owners of the old brick building on the corner uncover a door hidden neatly behind the peeling bookshelf built into the wall. 

Beyond, they discover a room untouched by the passage of time. Remnants of art supplies and printing material are strewn about, old metal trays and half a bottle of vinegar litter the table alongside various partially bound and finished magazines. But those are only a small fraction compared to the treasures decorating the walls.

Thick art paper curling at the edges hang along clotheslines around the room featuring a bronze-skinned young man with wavy brunette hair, his every line and feature lovingly sketched out in graphite and painted in color. They’re yellowing with age but the care and adoration is evident in the smooth curves and the spark of life imbued into each delicate rendering.

The pieces are absolutely breathtaking.

Near the end, the exquisite drawings make way for photographs hazy and blurred with time and age. But the black and white image of a long dark-haired man is still unmistakable, features sharp and lean with eyes that pierce the lens and into the soul to set the heart racing. He’s sensual but dark with an otherworldly beauty that jumps out of the photo.

The final photograph features both of the young men, lounging together on a chaise, their eyes only for each other with hearts bared for the camera and lives forever memorialized. Together.

And to this day, these beautiful works of art present a dazzling look into the lesser-known world of the big city’s underground gay movement and are still on display in the New-York Historical Society for all to see.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my Instagram for more Klance and VLD drabbles, short fics, and the rare art piece: [staymagwrites](https://www.instagram.com/staymagwrites/)


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